


Fortune Teller

by shutupeccles



Category: Merlin - Fandom
Genre: Fate, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-17
Updated: 2010-05-17
Packaged: 2017-11-04 10:01:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/392586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shutupeccles/pseuds/shutupeccles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two small boys who have never met stumble accidentally into a heavily incensed tent and hear a mystical tale friendship between a prince and warlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fortune Teller

Two small boys stumble accidentally into a heavily incensed tent from different directions. Neither of them see it, they just sort of fall in.

The smaller is slight of build with raven-feather hair and bully-bait protruding ears. The other is robust with a haystack of hair and a faintly amused smile. The woman whose tent this is judges the blond to be about seven and perhaps two years older. She could be wrong. She can see by the way they approach each other that they have not met before.

“Good morning,” the fair boy says confidently. “I can read you know—that’s like my name there.” He points to one of two crates holding her sleeping pallet off the floor, the one labelled Artichoke.

“So can I,” the younger boy offers meekly. “That’s my name there.” He taps the other crate.

“Melon.” Artichoke reads seriously. “Nice to meet you Melon.” He takes a few steps closer and offers his hand politely. Melon stares at it.

“Shake Artichoke’s hand Melon, like this,” the woman demonstrates while the blond child snorts a derisive yet amused chortle.

“My name’s not Arti- _cho_...”

“Hello Arti.” Melon says shyly, shaking the boisterous boy’s hand.

“Close enough.” Arti concedes with a cheeky smile.

Before their hands part their eyes meet properly and everything feels more solid yet looks shimmery and transparent, Melon’s eyes glowing bright amber. When contact is broken and Arti looks again the younger boy’s eyes are simply a darker blue than his own.

“Powerful magic happened then,” Arti states importantly.

“You think so?” Melon is obviously proud.

“Let’s hope my father didn’t notice. He says magic is evil.”

“Oh,” Melon retreats, not only from his new acquaintance.

“Would you boys like to see a story?”

“Yes please.”

“Yes.”

“You have to have proper manners and say ‘yes please’ Melon.”

“Sorry Arti. Yes please.”

Arti beams at him proudly and Melon’s answering grin is a little less bashful.

The woman places both hands palm up on her simple table. “Hold my hand and each other’s.”

Melon automatically takes her hand and holds one out to Arti who is frowning.

“Holding hands is for babies and girls.”

Melon’s lip quivers as he tries to withdraw his hand. He doesn’t want to be called baby or worse: _girl_ , especially not by this impressive older boy.

“ _Tantrums_ are for babies and girls,” the woman retorts and takes Arti's hand.

Melon laughs at Arti then looks away still grinning as Arti pouts and snatches the smaller hand into his own.

“Shut up _Mel_ on,” he squashes the thin fingers between his stronger ones.

“You don’t have to be mean!”

“Look at you two, fighting like the prince and the warlock in the story ball.”

“Where did...?” Arti forgets about asking where that large solid-looking bubble suddenly came from when he sees the people in it move.

A radiant, golden-haired youth is laughing and bullying someone they cannot see clearly when a taller, sallow youth with dark hair stops him. Those watching cannot hear what the two are saying, but neither looks particularly impressed with the other.

“Which is the prince?” Melon asks. He’s never seen a prince before.

“The tall one, it’s his job to protect his people.” Arti replies proudly without condescension. He knows a lot about princes.

“No,” counters the woman.

“What?” His tone implies ‘surely thou art mistaken wench’ but with a lot less dignity and a lot more indignation. Especially as the image prince is bending the warlock’s arm behind his back and snarling into his ear. The warlock’s face is a grimace of pain. “But he’s a bully!” Arti points with his chin, “that’s not right.”

“I don’t like him either,” Melon agrees.

“He is a great king...”

“He is a royal ass!” Arti exclaims and Melon murmurs the phrase with a chuckle until the woman scolds.

“Language.”

“Sorry ma’am.” Both pairs of blue eyes and immature voices are apologetic.

“The warlock will change him.”

“With magic?” Melon asks with enthusiasm.

“With friendship.”

“Isn’t that the warlock he’s pushing around?”

“Yes Arth-i.”

“Why would _anyone_ be that prince’s friend? He’s awful.”

“Maybe no-one’s told him he’s awful.” Melon suggests with the wisdom of innocence.

“What? Who?”

“That is unimportant,” the woman interjects. Young boys are so easily distracted and she really needs to be getting on with this. “What matters is they do become friends—look.”

“Is the prince king now?” Arti asks, recognising that the pair they are watching are now older.

“Not yet.”

“He’s rather dashing.” Arti observes. To cover Melon’s amused snort the woman agrees.

“The majority think so.”

“Why is he bleeding?” Melon asks suddenly.

“There was a terrible fight.”

“And why is the warlock sad?” Arti asks. “Why isn’t he using magic to make them both better?”

“He lost something very important, and magic cannot fix everything. Besides, if he does use magic the prince’s father will...”

Arti looks to Melon as if wondering how protect the smaller child from what the woman means and finishes the sentence before turning blue eyes burning with a desire for justice to her hazel ones. “...have him punished. If they’re friends the prince should keep him safe—unless he’s still awful.”

They see the laughing older prince throw a pillow at the grieving warlock’s head. Melon and Arti look at each other and reach the same conclusion. “Still awful,” they say in unison and the woman chuckles.

“He doesn’t know that his friend is a warlock or why he is sad. He wants to cheer him up but doesn’t know how.”

“This prince doesn’t know much. Stupid _and_ a bully—no wonder he needs a warlock to make him a good king!”

Melon laughs at Arti’s joke and the blond boy chortles along with him.

“The warlock wants to tell him, but sharing his secrets puts them both in danger.”

“I’d still tell.” Melon asserts.

“Maybe the warlock’s still afraid of him a little...he did hurt him.” Arti suggests, missing the significance of his companion’s remark.

“Perhaps he is afraid, but not in the way you mean. Before this happens they save each other’s lives many times, often by risking their own. Each would follow the other anywhere.” The woman speaks softly to ensure the boys listen.

“Why?” Arti asks.

“Love.”

“Eww!” The boys wrinkle their noses and she can’t help laughing.

“Like brothers love each other you silly things.”

“I don’t have any brothers.” Melon mumbles.

“Nor do I.” Arti briefly pats Melon’s arm in a reassuring gesture he has seen adults use when they know how another feels but not what words to use.

“Look again.”

“He’s king now, and even more handsome.”

“How do you know Arti?” Melon asks, rather impressed by his intelligence.

“He has a beautiful queen, see? They both have similar crowns and are smiling at each other all dimply like love.”

The woman marvels again at how people can be so observant and yet so clueless while Melon comments on the queen: “Very pretty.”

“More than pretty.” Arti insists.

“oo-oo-ooh.”

“Shut up Melon.”

“That’s not actually...”

“Anyway,” interrupts the old woman, “that’s the end.”

“What?” Arti asks, incredulous.

“Nothing happened!” Melon complained.

“That was just...” Arti’s fingers seem to be trying to pull a word out of the air and guide it into his brain.

“...bits?” Melon suggests and Arti clicks his fingers and points at Melon triumphantly.

“...bits! Yes. You’re really quite clever...”

“Thank you.”

“...for a little boy.”

Melon grumps at him, muttering _ass_ under his breath so the woman doesn’t hear, but Arti sweeps on unaware of causing insult.

“Does the warlock tell his friend before he becomes king?”

“He knows before that,” she answers vaguely.

“Do they stay friends?” the boys ask together as if this is the most important thing, which perhaps it is.

“Until they die.”

“Really?” Melon asks hopefully.

“Perhaps longer.”

“That makes no sense.” Arti frowns adorably, brow furrowed and mouth seeming to move entirely to one side of his face.

“Too bad, that’s how it ends. Out you go now, shoo!”

She pushes them out and neither child realises the tent is now a hovel, nor that the woman is busily digging at a turnip patch that wasn’t there before.

“You seem alright Melon. Would you like to be friends?” Arti asks.

“Okay.”

The woman observes Melon and Artichoke cavort through the forest around the hovel, making sure no danger befalls them without them noticing her presence. They play castles and knights, and have running and climbing contests. Arti is unaware that Melon sometimes cheats or that the things they wish they had for their games are consistently found within easy reach, but then Melon is not familiar enough with his own magic to sense it leaking out. Frivolous play comes to an end when several voices ring out at once.

“Arthur!”

“Bother. I have to go. I had a lot of fun today Melon—even if that old woman was strange.”

“Very strange,” Melon grins in agreement.

“Friends until we die?” Arthur spits in his hand and holds it out like he has seen the knights do. Melon copies, his look of disgust deepening as the slime on their hands combines.

“Til we die.” Again the younger boy’s eyes change colour and the world feels different. Behind them the hovel, turnips and woman fade into empty woods.

“Prince Arthur!”

“You’re a prince!”

“Well spotted Melon.”

“That’s funny because I’m a warl...”

“Arthur! Attend!”

The man's voice is sharply impatient.

“Coming Father! What did you say?” Arthur asks his new friend.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“’Bye then Melon.” Arti turns and starts to run in the direction of his father’s voice.

“’Bye Arthur, and my name’s not...” but his promised friend was already out of sight.


End file.
